there and back again
by atalantide
Summary: Four children enter Narnia; only one returns. "Edmund was dead. So was Susan and so was Peter. But they were waiting for her in Aslan's country, and she would join them – but not prematurely. She would rule her country and she would rule it well. She would be Just and Gentle and Magnificent but most of all she would be Valiant for that is what Aslan named her."
1. a golden age

**there and back again.**

 **by atalantide**

* * *

 **author's notes:**

[14/08/2016] format change and errors fixed - no major plot change

* * *

 **1: a golden age**

* * *

Peter was lying on the ground.

His short, blonde hair was ruffled and streaked with dirt, his face still damp with greying sweat. Blood had dried brown on his nostrils and upper lip, disguising the spattering of prickly hairs that showcased a man in the transition from child to adult. One arm lolled at his side on the muddied up ground, Rhindon grasped loosely between his fingers. His other arm was splayed across his chest, effectively hiding the gaping hole that had been cleaved through his flesh, but not quite covering the blossom of blood creeping through his fingertips. His eyes were open, but blank and misty.

Peter was dead.

Lucy moaned, and leaned into Susan, Edmund's arm encircling her shoulders.

"I never thought he would – it would – I just-" Lucy whispered into Susan's dress. Susan turned and hugged her, her own face pale, eyes bloodshot with tears.

"I know," Edmund said, voice grave. "But he did, and we shall miss him terribly. But - he'll be waiting for us. In Aslan's country – remember?"

"Yes," Susan agreed, "And we will all have to work very hard to make sure that no other Narnians are hurt again, just as Peter would have wanted." The remaining Pevensie children looked down at the body of their leader and hugged each other once more. Then, each of their shoulders stiffened as they unknowingly took on a small piece of the mantle that their brother had once held and prepared to continue. Their brother was gone, but three remained. They would not falter.

Lucy turned towards the battlefield, to find and help those Narnians still clinging onto life who could, unlike her brother, be helped by her cordial. Edmund bent down and gently removed Rhindon from his brother's grip, intent on continuing its legacy, and went to find General Oreius to help coordinate the uninjured. Susan went to the hastily erected healing halls, to aid the healers.

Peter was not forgotten, but pushed to the back of their minds. After all, they had a country to put back together after a Long Winter. This required their full effort.

* * *

Edmund, Lucy and Susan stood alongside Aslan at the base of the thrones. Lucy stared solemnly at the fourth throne – the one that would remain empty, despite the imminent coronation. She and her siblings would have to fulfil the duties that Peter had taken on, and carry on in his spirit. She stepped up onto the plinth, and settled into her throne. It was surprisingly comfortable, for a chair of marble.

"To the great western woods," Aslan said, as Mr. Tumnus settled a crown onto Edmund's head, "King Edmund the Just. To the radiant southern sun, Queen Susan the Gentle," Susan beamed up at Aslan as her crown settled onto her forehead, though a tear slid down her cheek. "And to the glistening eastern sea and the clear northern skies, High Queen Lucy the Valiant." Lucy closed her eyes as the heavy but reassuring metal of her crown was placed onto her head by her dear friend, and then looked up into Aslan's eyes. Though outwardly he remained solemn, the expression in his eyes comforted her beyond words and she felt a grin curl the upper corners of her mouth and bare her teeth.

"Once a king or queen in Narnia, always a king or queen. Bear it well, Son of Adam! Bear it well, Daughters of Eve!"

And the hall echoed with the eerie voices of the mermen and mermaids from the eastern sea, who swam close to the shore to sing in the honour of their new rulers. And there was a great feast, where food and wine were freely partaken in, and Lucy, Susan and Edmund congratulated the centaurs and the giants and the cheetahs and all who had helped, and pardoned the dwarfs and the wolves who were apologetic, and it was a golden night – the first of many golden night's that would eventually become the Golden Age.

And Aslan slipped away that night for, as Mr. Tumnus had told Lucy, he "wasn't a tame lion, of course" and one that came and went as he pleased. And Lucy was sad to see him go, and couldn't help but wonder why he had let her brother die and why he had made her High Queen. But she was a faithful queen, and believed that there was a reason, even if such was not explained to the likes of her. And so the two sisters and one brother began their reign, one down but not any weaker because of it, and they reigned well.

* * *

Susan was curled up in the roots of an oak.

The curved slashes of scimitars littered her body, yet her face remained untouched – still the beautiful mask that had led to her death. Her thigh length black hair haloed her pale head, clear blue eyes that she had shared with Peter closed to never be seen again.

She had not gone down lightly – Gentle though she may be she was a Queen of Narnia, none of whom were created in peace and pampering. Rabadash and his guards surrounded her, each with their own spikey arrow protruding from an eye. Susan was nothing if not accurate, even in the midst of a battle she could not win. She had slayed her enemies out of spite, it seemed, as she did it knowing she could not escape with her life. Her vindictiveness aroused a bitter laugh from Lucy – it seemed that Susan shared more traits with her sister then was originally evident.

When Peter had died, the Pevensies had been sad but had moved on. After all, they had had a country to rebuild, and the people who had killed him were dead already. There was nothing that could be done.

Whilst Susan had done an admirable job in killing her murderers herself, there was still a nation that had been behind it. A nation that had had the audacity to kill a neighbouring nation's Queen – to kill _her sister_ – just because she refused a courtship proposal. Lucy idly grabbed Rabadash's scimitar from the ground.

Calormen would pay.

* * *

Edmund had at first been resistant. She had, of course, anticipated this – he was the _Just_ , after all, and where is the _justice_ in punishing a nation for the actions of their prince? But she was High Queen, and he had quickly become more amenable to the actions after she showed him their dear sister, still curled within the protection of the oak nymph. He did argue, however, that Narnia had neither the means nor the ability to go to an all-out war against Calormen. Lucy shock her head and grinned – it hadn't been an all-out war she had been reckoning on. At her side, her finger caressed the blade of the scimitar. It broke skin. She didn't cry.

* * *

The Tisroc (may he live forever) had been found dead with scimitar wounds covering his body but leaving his face intact, and his guards cried out that the barbaric lands to the north and their demon of hideous aspect and irresistible maleficence who appeared in the shape of a lion had somehow accomplished it.

And only a week later the Grand Vizier and the Tisroc's (may he live for ever) family were all found dead in the palace, each with their own spikey arrow protruding from an eye, and the guards abandoned their posts that day to avoid this demonic retribution from the north and the country fell into turmoil as suddenly there was no family to take up the Tisroc's role and all the Tarkaans were arguing for rule.

And Calormenes everywhere mourned for their leader and stuck their noses up and talked loudly among themselves about 'A land chiefly inhabited by demons' who 'Took the forms of beasts who could talk like people' that was of 'No interest to a great empire like Calormen' and so of course they would not 'Bother with trivialities like Narnia'. And yet, behind closed doors, and discussed in quiet voices with wary eyes, were whispers of a shadow that had killed the Tisroc (may he- well), a shadow that took the form of a small girl with a Calormene blade and a wrought iron crown nestled on her forehead.

And really, all of Calormen had heard of the suspicious rumours of the child-royals, brother and sisters and probably more (for Narnia was of course a barbaric land with no common decency or morality) and so it was really rather best just to ignore it and hope the shadow and sorcerers and demons would _stay away_.

Calormen, collectively, shook it's head and turned south, away from Narnia.

* * *

And it was decided after _that_ incident that perhaps it would be best for the High Queen Lucy to commandeer the fighting efforts of Narnia – after all, she was Valiant and brave and gay and inspiring and was coming close to being _Magnificent_ – whilst Edmund took over the main ruling efforts. For whilst the Queen Lucy had a mind for fighting that matched (or perhaps surpassed, but don't tell her brother that for he got awfully funny at times) she didn't really have much of a mind for _diplomacy_ , or _justice,_ or the _correct course of action_ (those were really her siblings' forte, only her siblings had been narrowed down to one now and they were struggling and shaking and bending and _trying_ to hold up a weight that had once rested on four but now was shrouding two). Edmund, whilst enjoying battle strategy and being nigh unbeatable in a swordfight, did not particularly enjoy killing, whereas he found running a country meaningful. And so he left the killing to the High Queen, who took on Rhindon and grew strong enough to handle it, and left her scimitar hanging from her left side, Susan's quiver hanging from her right, and Rhindon and Susan's bow strapped across her back. Her cordial and dagger were tucked in her belt almost as an afterthought, and she often thought to herself that if Father Christmas saw her now, saw her 15 year old body that 'was not meant for battle' but had killed more people and animals and the strange mixture only Narnia knew then her brother Peter ever had, he would perhaps be rather surprised. Susan's horn was also slung at her hips, and in times of great need she did blow it, and sometimes it alerted her army to her plight and sometimes it distracted her enemies enough and sometimes it even bought Edmund to her, for the Pevensies were nothing if they did not stick together and Edmund was still rather fearsome in battle and often pulled Lucy out of a skirmish she could not win (desperately chanting in his head _not another one I can't lose someone else_ ).

And so she battled the giants to the North and the werewolves and the hags of the West and rode with her brother through his woods and below her sister's sun and her brother's skies and sailed with him through her eastern sea, but never too far for that was where Aslan's country lay and that was where Susan and Peter awaited and she and Edmund agreed that if they sailed too close they might not be able to bring themselves to sail back, and so they spent the next few years fighting and exploring and ruling, and doing it all well. And Lucy, perhaps, was not how Father Christmas had envisioned her but she was still gay and golden haired and still danced with the fauns and the nymphs and still laughed and hugged her brother and still protected the ones she loved – and if that protection was slightly better than it had been when she was just nine – well, who was to say that was bad? And the Narnians loved their solemn king who cared for them and protected them and made their lives as fair as possible and they delighted in their laughing queen who could kill as quickly as she could smile, and did both perhaps a little too often, and all was well for a time.

* * *

Edmund was lying on his bed.

He was under his sheets, arms folded atop his chest. They almost hid the unnatural stillness of his chest. His eyes were closed, and his brow unwrinkled in a way it had rarely been in life.

He looked peaceful.

Lucy entwined herself onto the bed, clutching the body of her last sibling and staring shocked at his grey face before finally, _finally_ , allowing herself to weep. For there wasn't a country to rebuild and there wasn't a nation to scare. There was just her brother – dead from some small disease that didn't affect the contents of their Court all that much, but was rather dangerous to full humans. And so she couldn't laugh and she couldn't kill and she couldn't square her shoulders and put it all behind her because she'd had her revenge because she _hadn't_. Because there was nothing to take revenge on. There was just her dead brother laid on his royal bed at the prime of his life from a disease that wouldn't have killed anyone in Narnia except for him and her and had chosen him because she had been off exploring the western woods – _his_ woods – and had taken her cordial with her. Except his woods were hers now – just as the northern skies had always been hers, despite the original plan, and how the southern sun had been his as well, and how now they were all hers and she had to be Valiant, and Just, and Gentle, and _Magnificent_. And how could one person be so many conflicting qualities? How could one person lead a country that had four thrones? How could one person _survive_ without Peter _and_ Susan _and now even Edmund_? When was Aslan going to be _sated_?! She had been given a cordial to _heal_ , but had been unable to save the three most important people to her.

Lucy drew a shuddering breath.

Edmund was dead. So was Susan and so was Peter. But they were waiting for her in Aslan's country, and she would join them – but not prematurely. She would rule _her_ country and she would rule it well. She would be Just and Gentle and Magnificent but most of all she would be Valiant for that is what Aslan named her and therefore it would be enough to succeed. And Narnia would mourn for their Kings and Queen(s) but they would not suffer, for she would not allow them to.

She smoothed down Edmund's brow and gently kissed it. Her eyes locked once more onto his face, committing it to memory, before she turned and strode out the door. A country would not stop for anyone's death – not even their King's.

* * *

Lucy handled Edmund's death with alarming ease, after her initial slight breakdown. After all, as grim as it sounded, she'd already had two practices. Narnia, too, felt saddened by their monarch's death but reassured by the presence of their High Queen, their _Wild Queen_ , for she held family above all, and now that her family was dead, it had expanded to include every single one of the Narnians.

However, the countries and empires surrounding Narnia were not quite so unchanged by the change in leadership. Archenland, in particular, whilst perfectly capable of accepting an ally in a country with a King (and willing to ignore that technically the King's little sister ruled over him), was slightly less eager to treat a country ruled solely by a woman as an equal. This was not due to any malevolence between the two countries, or even an innate disparaging attitude towards women from the population of the country but rather due to the country's ruler, King Lune. King Lune, unfortunately, held that very same innate disparaging attitude towards women that the majority of his citizens lacked, and also saw a seemingly perfect opportunity to unite Narnia and his country under the same banner of Archenland – by marrying, of course, one of his sons to the Queen Lucy.

Now of course who was he to get in the way of the true love his eldest son held – besides, he hardly thought the Queen Lucy would agree to a betrothal with Cor when taking into account her firm friendship with Cor's promised, Aravis (the two had bonded on a shared love for scimitars and hatred for the upper classes of Calormen) but he thought that his second son, Corin, was just as fine a choice. It should be noted that Corin was not particularly aghast at this match himself, as he thought Narnia to be a rather fine place and could imagine leaving Archenland for it, and already had a rather high opinion of the High Queen herself after becoming – _ahem-_ quite closely acquainted with her royal self on a stately visit only last year.

It should also be noted that the High Queen Lucy had no desire to marry whatsoever, particularly when it meant signing her country away to another she considered an ally but much less suited to ruling Narnia than herself.

It should also be noted that the High Queen Lucy had still not, despite her best attempts, _quite_ grasped the intricacies of diplomacy.

It therefore was perhaps unsurprising that within twenty four hours of the proposed match, Archenland was mobilising their army and Lucy's court was sighing in frustration rather a lot.

* * *

It happened rather by accident.

Narnia had met Archenland at their border as the southern sun rose above the trees. Lucy sat atop a talking horse, a good friend of her royal brother's and who had asked to carry her into battle now that he could no longer take Edmund. Rhindon hung at her side, and Edmund's shield was slung on her back. Today was not the day for foreign warfare like scimitars or for bow and arrows.

Lucy did not particularly want to fight. To her, it seemed all incredibly ridiculous for an ally like Archenland to attack Narnia just because Narnia's Queen refused a marriage proposal. It stunk a little too strongly of Calormen's actions against her sister all those years ago. And yet she would fight, for she had tried diplomacy and it hadn't worked, and she couldn't quite see an alternative. Still, it would be best to end it quickly.

And so, as Narnia's army faced off against Archenland's, she found herself searching out King Lune on his front lines. She spotted Cor and Corin flanking his sides, and gave a small wave to both. And then, as Susan's sun topped the trees and bathed the valley in light, and as she thought of her dear sister and how much she would hate all of this, the armies began the surge towards each other. High Queen Lucy leaned low over Phillip's neck, allowing him to go as fast as possible, and brandishing Rhindon, she looked directly at King Lune's face and grinned.

And the Narnians and Archenlanders both looked towards this fierce image of a queen armed to the teeth and streaking ahead of the Narnian army, and the Narnians looked to her and called her _Wild Queen_ and the Archenlanders looked to her and called her _someone we really don't want to cross_.

And Lucy and Phillip reached the Archenlanders first, as was only right for the leader of the army, and she clashed her sword with King Lune's as Phillip reared and struck his hooves at the dumb horse carrying the monarch. And seconds later the armies clashed and buckled into each other, creatures and men alike flying into the air from the force of the collision, and griffins flew above and dropped boulders into the crowd, and giants hurled rocks from behind, but both sides were rather unenthusiastic for they really were most of the time family or friends, and so aimed more to injure then to kill. And Lucy saw this and vowed to end this battle quickly and so she attacked King Lune with a ferocity rarely seen. He was an accomplished warrior, able to hold his own, but Lucy was _angry_ , _angry_ at having been questioned and doubted and talked to like a Child (didn't he know she hadn't been one since her brother lay dead on a battlefield?) and so she dodged and parried all his swings and thrust her sword at his wrist and _sliced_ , and his hand fell to the ground, sword still clasped strongly between fingertips.

And Lune _screamed_ , and toppled off his dumb horse who knew little better then to gallop off in fear, and Lucy jumped off Phillip and took Father Christmas's dagger from her belt and held it under King Lune's throat.

"Surrender," she swore, "Surrender and stop your army and accept my rule or I'll slit your throat despite our old friendship and make your army stop myself. Don't let your pride do this to your people."

And Lune looked up into her dirty and fierce face, and thought that perhaps he'd misjudged her. And he twisted his head to look at his son Cor who was still close to them, though fighting a dwarf rather half-heartedly. Both fighters were looking at the two monarchs more than each other, and Cor shook his head sadly and nodded at Lucy. And so King Lune fumbled with his left hand at his belt, still gasping in shock and agony, where a horn similar to Susan's in appearance but not half so useful hang, and blew long and hard on it. And all through the battlefield, similar horns rang as Generals to the King heard his surrender and so blew theirs. And so, one by one, the Archenlanders stopped fighting and threw their weapons onto the ground and surrendered, and Aravis approached Lucy bloody and patted her shoulder, and Phillip nudged her head with his and mouthed "Well done, my Queen."

And that was how the formidable army of Archenland was beaten in ten minutes, and how, though Lucy had not realised it at that moment, it was conquered by Narnia.

* * *

As she had said, it had all really happened by accident. But it wasn't until later that week, once the wounded had been healed and the dead had been buried and King Lune had been carted to the healing halls due to a fever from his infected arm (she would not use her cordial on him, not when he had attacked and had killed _her_ Narnians), that she spoke to Cor and Aravis and grinned at Corin, and was asked what she'd do with Archenland now.

"What _I'd_ do with Archenland?" She asked, quite baffled, looking between the heir to King Lune and his promised. "Why should I have anything to do with Archenland?"

Cor smiled wryly, whilst Aravis rolled her eyes. "Lucy, my dear, you've _conquered_ us. Archenland is now yours to do with as you will – merge it with Narnia, perhaps, or something of the sort?"

"I haven't _conquered_ Archenland – we just defeated you and then-"

"And then my father, the reigning monarch of Archenland, surrendered to you. That is the equivalent of conquering, Lucy." Cor explained tiredly, his thoughts wandering to his father in the healing halls.

"Oh." Lucy spluttered. Here, she sat and thought for a while, for it is not good to rush the matter of deciding on what to do with a kingdom.

"Well, in that case I suppose I name you and Aravis as King and Queen of Archenland, to rule under your High Queen (but don't worry my friends for I will not in the least interfere – it is hard enough to rule Narnia alone, you see), and to keep close relations with Narnia, I suppose. And you can name your heirs and everything yourself – though I suppose it will be Corin (so if your highnesses would please put it upon yourself not to die as that truly is a scary thought) until a baby is born, ey?" Here, she winked at Aravis, who blushed but stared at her now High Queen quite sternly.

And she turned, as if to walk back down the hall of Anvard, before spinning on her heel and looking back at Cor. She looked him directly in the eye.

"I suppose we'll have a coronation, hmm, day after tomorrow? And I'll draw up a treaty for you to sign. Cor, my friend – I don't ask for your father to be executed or to be thrown in gaol, but _you_ are King now, you understand? He has shown himself to be an inept ruler who would put himself and his family's pride before his country, and I do _not_ want him to rule again." Here, she glared slightly at the three of them, to which they nodded perhaps meekly. Looking to this, she grinned once more.

"I think Narnia and Archenland are going to get along fabulously." She murmured, before turning for the gates and striding out, sword and horn still hanging at her side and shield still strapped to her back.

* * *

And our High Queen Lucy the Valiant was correct, as she sometimes was, for the next few years had Narnia and Archenland closer than ever before, and they helped each other out at times of strife and revelled together in times of peace, and the borders between the countries became so lax that animals living in Narnia may identify as Archenlanders, whilst men living in Archenland may identify as Narnians, and so on and so forth. And the giants to the north were finally quelled with the help of a combined Narnian and Archenlander army, and the sea monsters of the glistening eastern sea were chased away, and all was good in Narnia, for a time.

And Lucy aged to her 23rd birthday, and each year grew more and more beautiful, and was still gay and golden-hearted and fierce with sword, and perhaps had finally become Magnificent, and so she spent her years once again fighting and exploring and ruling and doing it all well, and she was not quite alone anymore as she had Cor and Aravis and still had Mr. Tumnus and the Beavers and Phillip, and though every day she yearned for Peter's bravery, and Susan's love, and Edmund's gravity, she found once again that she really did quite enjoy ruling Narnia and dancing with the nymphs and the satyrs and clashing with the giants and talking with the creatures. And so she continued in much the same fashion until, one day, Aslan came.

* * *

It was the day of her 24th birthday, and Cair Paravel was in an uproar as it prepared for a feast of grand proportions for that night. She herself was walking in the meadows on which the newly planted orchard laid alongside Cor and Aravis, who had decided a stately visit was only right for the week containing her birthday. And so they were walking among the tree nursery in the shade (for it really was a blistering heat from Susan's sun) when a young tree nymph danced out of an apple tree and swirled around her, beckoning a finger. Laughing (for Aravis and Cor were still rightly amazed at nature spirits such as nymphs, and Lucy loved their gaiety), they hurried after the nymph who led them into deeper trees, out of the orchard and into the darker forest. They followed the nymph for what seemed like hours but was perhaps only minutes, slowing down as they felt a gravity to the situation that was not there before. And Lucy could feel it in the air, attuned to Narnia as she was, and found herself grinning, wider and harder than she had in years, and broke out into a full sprint, dragging Cor and Aravis behind her. And they tumbled out into a clearing that was quite beautiful but went unnoticed, as at the centre of the clearing lay a large, gold lion, bigger and taller than Lucy had remembered since the last time she had seen him when she was nine. And at that moment all her doubts on Aslan and her worries over her siblings' death and her leadership capabilities disappeared, and she mouthed "Aslan," before launching herself at the lion, who caught her with his soft paws and rolled over, laughing.

And Cor and Aravis fell to their knees, as they had never before seen Aslan and had just heard him when running from Calormen, and were rather overwhelmed. And Lucy felt relieved, for though she may be Narnia's High Queen, Aslan was their King, _her_ King, and he would tell her if she was doing alright.

"Well done, my children," Aslan rumbled, as Lucy sat back on the ground between his paws, fitting as easily there as she had fifteen years ago despite her growth, and looked up into his eyes. "You have each done so well."

He turned to Cor and Aravis, and said, "I will speak to you both later, but first I must talk to Lucy alone." He nuzzled the top of Lucy's head, and Cor and Aravis both nodded before exiting the clearing. And Lucy found herself gripping tightly to his mane, tighter than when she had been only nine and was riding on his back to rescue Narnia, before Peter had died but also before she had ruled Narnia and loved it. And she spoke, her voice muffled by the lion's long mane.

"Why, Aslan?"

And he sighed, and it was almost as if he was tired.

"Oh, Lucy. When I created this land and roared life into its creatures, I gave them free will. The ability to write their own stories. My dearest, Peter, Susan and Edmund's stories ended a bit soon, but they were good ones, happy ones. And you shall see them again. Let me ask you, my dear, are you not happy?"

She sighed, and curled her fingers round his hair. He was so warm, and he made her feel safer than anything. "O truly Aslan I am happy. But I do miss them terribly, and I am not sure I am as good at ruling a country meant for four as we would have been."

"Narnia has indeed seen different times than it would have had there been four, but not necessarily worse times, or better. And perhaps you have wandered from the path you would have taken, but the path you have carved out for yourself is just as worthy. You have done better than any could expect, my dear, and Narnia and your people – _our people_ – have thrived because of it."

She smiled up at him and felt a great weight lift from her heart, as she finally accepted her siblings' death and determined she had done the right thing. Still, there were more questions growing on her mind.

"Aslan, why did you make _me_ High Queen, instead of Susan or Edmund? I was youngest and, according to Father Christmas, not meant for battle."

Aslan chuckled once more, his chest rumbling with deep laughter. "You were made High Queen, Lucy, because you were most suited to it. It is you who embodies Narnia most of your siblings, and therefore it is you who should have the final say!"

"Oh. I see," Lucy replied timidly, "Only I was only nine years old and really had no clue what to do at all!"

"But you were ready, my dear. I would not have crowned you if you were not."

And so Lucy accepted Aslan's answers, and asked him about her friends (to which he, of course, replied that it was none of her business) and asked him about his size (he had grown rather substantially – at least, that's what she thought, but it turns out it was _her_ growth that had influenced his growth) and then about where he had been ("Why should I interrupt on a rule that is doing perfectly well on its own?") and then, after that question, she (perhaps inevitably) asked why he was here now.

"Not that I don't love having you here and wish you were here more, Aslan," she said, "Only, if you never visited before because I was doing fine then why are you visiting now?"

For the first time in her life, she saw Aslan looking hesitant. "I have come," he said, "to -warn you. If there had been four, I would not have, as you would have had each other to support yourselves, but as there is only you…"

"What are you talking of, Aslan? Warn me of what?" Lucy asked, voice puzzled and worried.

"Remember, Lucy. You were not born in Narnia, and it is not for you to die here. That is all I will say." And indeed, he stuck to his word and that is all he would say, despite Lucy's continued pestering. And eventually, after many hours of her lying by him and soaking up his warmth and safety, he shooed her away so that he could talk to Cor and Aravis in peace. And so she stumbled back to Cair Paravel, thoughts full of a land she had forgotten, of Spare Oom and War Drobe as she pondered on his words. And she was scolded when she got back, for she had almost missed the feast meant for her, but her ladies-in-waiting were quick to stop upon seeing her thoughtful and anxious expression.

* * *

And so it was in the next few weeks that she began to make provisos for her leave, if indeed she had interpreted Aslan's words correctly. And for the first time she perhaps regretted not accepting one of many proposals, for she had no heir on hand, but she directed General Oreius to take care of all war and fighting if she was to be unavailable, for Mr Tumnus to keep an eye on harvests and food supply, for Corin, who really rather loved the sea, to manage Narnia's navy and merchant vessels, and for Cor and Aravis to be on hand to help in stately affairs and general ruling until Narnia could find a suitable replacement (and if no replacement was to be found, then to for once and for all completely merge the two countries and rule over both as one). And the whole of her Court and her friends were rather worried by her change in moods, as she was often found to be wistful and longing, but could not draw an answer out of her as to the cause of these moods other than "It was just something Aslan said. Nothing will come of it, probably, but better to be prepared, no?"

But as weeks drew into months from her 24th birthday, and she remained very much where she was, she began to wonder if perhaps she had misinterpreted his words and so became jollier and started to laugh and to dance and to fight once more. And news came in that Aravis and Cor (two years married) were expecting their first child, and Corin once again began his attempts to woo his Wild Queen (they were largely unsuccessful), and her mood had lifted to such an extent that when Mr. Tumnus came bounding into the hall of Cair Paravel, bringing news of the White Stag being seen in his parts near the western woods – the White Stag that granted you wishes if you were to catch it – the High Queen Lucy and her principle members of Court rode hunting for it, Lucy secretly thinking of wishes of staying in her country. And true enough, they found the White Stag, but before they could catch it he had gone deeper into the forest where their horses could not follow. And so the High Queen Lucy swung off the bare back of Phillip, her dear friend, patted his nose (almost in farewell), clenched her fist round her Susan's horn and (wishing for her bow instead) raced off into the trees before anyone could follow.

And there inside the thicket Lucy found, instead of a White Stag, a tree of iron, and something strange stirred in her memory and almost made her turn back, but she was Valiant so she stepped forward and past this odd tree that was older than the surrounding forest and continued after the fleeting flash of white ahead of her. And as she stepped forward again, she realised that the tree of iron was a lamppost, and after a score more paces she remembered that she had not come from the land of Spare Oom but rather England, and after twenty more the branches brushing her arms and legs began to feel more like coats, and she started running, because surely this _couldn't_ be happening, but any direction she ran the trees still turned more and more into coats, and the snow at her feet stopped crunching and began to get smoother, until suddenly her hands stretched in front of her in the darkness slapped flat onto a smooth polished piece of wood and she was tumbling out through the doors of a wardrobe.

And she looked down, and she was nine once again. And she had on her old, English clothes. And all had gone back to the way it was when she had entered Narnia, except that her brothers and sister were still dead. And she looked at the ground – the smooth, wooden, identical planks you wouldn't find in Narnia - and she sobbed.

* * *

 **fin.**

* * *

 **ages for reference:**

\- Peter dies when he is 13, Susan is 12, Edmund is 10, Lucy is 9

\- Susan dies when she is 18, Edmund is 16, Lucy is 15

\- Edmund dies when he is 21, Lucy is 20

\- Archenland attacks when Lucy is 21, Cor is 20 and Aravis is 19

\- Lucy leaves Narnia when she is 24, 15 years after entering it

* * *

 **author's notes:**

This will be continued - an interlude in Britain, I think, and then onto Prince Caspian and maybe even onto the Dawn Treader

 **Please tell me what you think!**


	2. a very english interlude

**there and back again.**

 **by atalantide**

* * *

 **author's notes:**

A lot of people write the Pevensies as returning to London to live before they catch the train to school that leads to Prince Caspian, and I've looked and it doesn't say anything in the books. As the Pevensies are evacuated in 1940 and leave in Prince Caspian a year later in 1941, it seems unlikely that they are returned home between then as most evacuees were only returned home at the end of the war in 1945. So that's what I wrote in, anyway.

This is more of an interlude than anything, and so is shorter than any chapters will eb that cover Narnia.

* * *

 **2: a very english interlude**

* * *

Living in the Professor's home was both peculiar and somewhat of a relief. She had forgotten, in her sparse memories of the land she had spent her first nine years in, about the war that was ongoing and thus her and her siblings' brief stay at the Professor's house, and had rather assumed she would be returned to London and to her mother and father. However, this was not the case. This was rather a relief, as not only was the countryside rather more like Narnia then London was, but she had also been forced to confess to the Professor (a remarkably wise and trusting man) why her three siblings had seemingly disappeared. He, in turn, had told her that he and his friend had also ventured to Narnia, at the beginning of her creation when they were much younger (and were in fact guilty of bringing Jadis with them, he was afraid). Thus, they had sorted out her siblings' deaths, and during these discussions a kinship had struck up between the old Professor Kirke and his nine year old evacuee.

Mrs Macready was rather baffled by this kinship that seemingly arose from nowhere between a preteen and an old man, but as she was a steadfast women who took most things in her stride she continued on without much notice. A slightly harder thing to take in her stride was the disappearance of three healthy children – from pneumonia, apparently, but they had all seemed in fine health just the night before they disappeared. Still, who really knew what sicknesses children in the city were exposed to growing up? She decided to leave it well enough alone, though perhaps it could be said that her following actions to the surviving child over the next year were more kindly then previously.

As for Lucy, she found it rather disconcerting being nine again. Just the physicality of her nine year old body in comparison to her twenty-four year old body was alarming. Every now and again, she would stumble and fall over on flat ground after expecting her legs to be a great deal longer than they were. Her strength, built up over years of yielding the hefty weight of Rhindon, was replaced by that of a young child, and this often took her by surprise when she went to lift, push or pull things – in particular, the heavy gates on the Professor's drive. Her coordination was no longer what it used to be – she found it harder to draw anything better than stick figures, which was particularly distressing as drawing was once the only art she could grasp (to her sister's consternation), and catching tennis balls was almost beyond her.

However, it was the social side of things that was truly troublesome. Lucy had gone from being a High Queen of a well-respected country, its sole and successful ruler who had fought and won many wars, to a child evacuee who had no say in the dinner she ate, let alone the country she lived in. There was only one man in the whole world who treated her as an adult, and that was the dear Professor – but even he occasionally struggled as he himself had of course never seen her as any older than her current self. Her opinions and ideas were at best laughed at and dismissed and at worst ignored completely. Privately, she thought that the transition would have been easier had she had even one sibling with whom she could act like herself with – but, as with everything else now, she was alone in this matter.

However, by far the most unnerving realisation that Lucy faced was that slowly her mental perception _was_ slipping back into that of her old English self. It was how she imagined facing Alzheimer's would be, whilst fully aware of the grip on reality you were losing day by day. First, it started as simply forgetting the name of far off foreign countries to Narnia and their rulers – for the life of her, she just _couldn't_ remember the name of the Ambassador of Galma – but then she began forgetting more important things, such as Mrs Beaver's first name (Danicla? Damclea?), and the name of her first boat on her maiden voyage.

She was terrified beyond words of ever forgetting any of her siblings.

Not only that, but her mannerisms were slipping. You get treated like a nine year old girl for long enough and you become one. More and more of her twenty four year old self was fading, to let the nine year old shine through. She tried staving it off, somewhat successfully, but she feared what would happen to both her memory and her sense of self if she stayed too long in this country.

Lucy had decided to write to her mother herself to explain the deaths of her siblings – or rather, to explain the story the Professor and she had thought of. Her mother had replied much later with an incredibly distraught letter, and Lucy felt a pang of sadness for this woman she didn't really know – she had evacuated her children to keep them safe and had spent her energy worrying for her husband. Instead, he was alive but three of her beloved children were dead. Indeed, she had nigh on demanded that Lucy return to London into her care, but Lucy had reminded her of the ongoing Blitz and her mother had eventually agreed it was safer in the countryside.

And so Lucy spent her mornings exploring the surrounding countryside and convincing the farmers to let her help and trying desperately to get the wildlife to talk and she spent her evenings in the Professor's library, reading, or comparing stories of Narnia, or discussing the shortcomings of this world, or just sitting quietly. And she suffered from the farmers' dismissal of her and the animals' failure to talk and her conversations by letter with her mother whom she had almost forgotten, but she enjoyed this easy, carefree life in the Professor's house as well. And sometimes she'd curl up on her bed and weep for Cor and Aravis and Mr Tumnus and most of all for Peter and Edmund and Susan who were out of her reach more than ever, far from Aslan as she was. And sometimes she'd pause and a feeling of _brokenness_ and _not belonging_ would sweep over her, for this was not her country, would never be _her_ country and she could pretend she was on a foreign visit but it was going on for _too long_.

But she coped. She had bad days, and she had good days, and she had days where she could barely get out of bed, but she always did and she squared her shoulders and put it behind her as much as she could.

And she clung onto the Professor's words – words that unknowingly mirrored Aslan's.

"Yes, of course you'll get back to Narnia again." He had said. "Once a Queen in Narnia, always a Queen in Narnia, don't you know?" And she had known of course, but it was still a relief to be reassured.

And so she lived and smiled and cried, but most of all she waited. Waited until she would be called back, back to the land that had claimed her siblings but also her heart.

* * *

It was in June, nine months after convincing her mother to let her stay with the Professor for the time being, that she received a letter telling her of her enrollment in Clapton Girls Academy in Wiltshire from her mother – a school that she would be expected to attend at the start of September. At first she had resisted this change, quite happy to continue at the Professor's and have a free life with only short and disrupted schooling in the village hall, but she had eventually realized that if she wasn't to live in Narnia for all her life, an education would surely be important. And so, with minimum resistance, she began her preparations for another upheaval of her life that would occur in three months' time, for the relinquishing of contact with the one man who knew her secret, and the immersion in a school where she would be completely surrounded by no one but other nine year old girls and occasionally their teachers. Suffice to say, she was not looking forward to September and was looking to put it off for as long as possible.

But, in a way only time knows how, when her desire was for the next three months to extend for as long as possible, they contrarily seemed to fly by, and in no time at all she found herself hugging both the Professor and Mrs Macready in farewell at the train station (both had become quite fond of the small girl and were unhappy to see her go) and waving to some of the village friends she had made who were also there, before stepping towards the steam train bound for Wiltshire.

And suddenly Lucy gave a sharp little cry and grabbed her forearm, rubbing it in pain. She frowned around her – someone had seemingly pinched her, but no one was around on the empty platform.

There! It had happened again, on her calf this time, and as she hunched over to rub that, she felt another pinch on her back. And suddenly, as she straightened up, everything began to go blurry and she thought that perhaps she had stood up rather too quickly, but no, everything was fading, and she knew this feeling, knew this _magic_ , and turned and looked straight into Professor Kirke's clear blue eyes and _grinned_ –and suddenly a group of schoolchildren walked right in front of her, concealing her from view, and when they had walked past her she was gone and the train bound for Wiltshire began to pull away.

"Well!" Said Mrs Macready, "The girl didn't even have the decency to say goodbye before she hopped on the train. Still, I suppose it was good as she only just got on in time! And there I was thinking she was a sensible child."

She turned away, still muttering, and walked towards the back of the platform to go back to the horse and cart that the Professor and she had taken there.

The Professor stood unmoved as he smiled wryly down at the plain brown leather suitcase that remained on the platform before him, settled patiently on the bricks as if its owner had just suddenly abandoned it.

"What did I tell you, ey Lucy? Once a Queen in Narnia, always a Queen in Narnia…"

And with that, he turned back towards Mrs Macready, who was ushering him forward and back towards his house. He wished all the best to his High Queen, and whatever adventure she would be going on next.

* * *

 **fin.**

* * *

 **ages for reference:**

\- Peter dies when he is 13, Susan is 12, Edmund is 10, Lucy is 9

\- Susan dies when she is 18, Edmund is 16, Lucy is 15

\- Edmund dies when he is 21, Lucy is 20

\- Archenland attacks when Lucy is 21, Cor is 20 and Aravis is 19

\- Lucy leaves Narnia when she is 24, 15 years after entering it

\- Lucy returns to Narnia when she is 10

* * *

 **author's notes:**

Prince Caspian next!

 **Please tell me what you think!**


End file.
